


That Time In 1924

by ServantOfMischief



Series: Through The Times [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Babylon is done with their bullshit, Babylon is impersonaiting a mobsters daughter, Babylon is their greatest shipper, Crowley entertaining with song, Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Male-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Missing 1920's scene, Not The Children, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), speakeasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22121314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ServantOfMischief/pseuds/ServantOfMischief
Summary: Babylon is utterly bored with humanity, and misses her friends. While they are off doing whatever it is they're doing when not with her (their work, presumably), Babylon sits alone in a speakeasy, musing over life on Earth.Inspired by pinkpiggy93's art of my OC Babylon, Crowley and Aziraphale. Which reminded me that while I did MENTION a 1920's scene, I never actually wrote one. Here, enjoy!I do not consent to my work being reposted, or used in any unofficial apps like Fanfic Pocket Archive Library (Unofficial) or the like!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Through The Times [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600765
Comments: 1
Kudos: 50





	That Time In 1924

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pinkpiggy93](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkpiggy93/gifts).
  * Inspired by [1920's Good Omens](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/548008) by Pinkpiggy93. 



> I do not consent to my work being reposted, or used in any unofficial apps like Fanfic Pocket Archive Library (Unofficial) or the like!

Babylon has seen neither Aziraphale nor Crowley for quite some time now, and it is a bit unusual. Well, they _are_ arguing, so it’s not so unusual that they are not both here, but at least, at some point, she should have run into one of them by now, here in the seedy little speakeasies. At least Crowley. She knows he would like a place like this.

Mainly because it has alcohol.

But also, because here he can do a whole lot of demonic temptations without putting too much effort into it. And that, while it really should not, would have been entertaining for Babylon, because she is dreadfully bored. America, the land of the free and the brave, and yet… Well, at least she won’t criticize their taste in dress. She must admit, the flapper dresses are rather nice. Babylon follows the times more than Aziraphale, and some might even call her a vain angel. She just thinks it’s better to actually blend in as best as she can while down here. She has found that she enjoys being on Earth a whole lot more than she does being up in Heaven. Heaven is cold, sterile, devoid of… well it seemed rather empty after the Fall. Not that Babylon has been up there any often after she descended down to Earth, but she doesn’t imagine that they have changed the interior décor.

“Miss Babylon.” She feels a frown pull at her mouth as she hears her bodyguard speak up behind her.

“What?”

“I’m sorry to cut your evening short, but your father requests that you return.”

“Why?” She levels the man with a look, and while he doesn’t look away or squirm beneath her glare, he also doesn’t speak up. But Babylon understands anyway, huffing as she stubs her cigarette into an ashtray and finishes her drink, standing up from her seat.

“Bloody, stupid gang-wars.” She mutters as she lets the man put her coat on and escorts her to the automobile which will drive her home. She scowls the entire way home, and when her “father-of-the-decade” meets her in the foyer, she brushes past him without a word. That’s what she’s seen a lot of women in her “situation” does to their parents when they are cross with them. She hears him call out after her, she tosses a glare over her shoulder. She stays inside the manor for the next week, being _denied_ leave as there is a whole lot of tension on the streets. She frowns and does her best not to do anything frivolous miracles that might catch any attention. She does, however, write Aziraphale a letter, asking how he is doing, and if he is planning on coming by America anytime soon, as she is dreadfully bored.

Not that anything is holding her here. Not really. She can leave whenever she wants to. She just doesn’t want to. She has nothing else to do, after all. So, she orders her driver to take her to a speakeasy. She needs a distraction, and alcohol she has learned during her time down here, is one of the quickest ways, alongside with some entertainment. She finds herself a seat in a booth, with view of the scene where the band is playing, and a singer is standing before the microphone, singing. She’s not got a bad voice, for a human it is exceptionally well. Babylon orders herself a glass of brandy, which she gets a look for by the waiter, and she raises a brow back, daring the man to challenge her. He, wisely, does not. Instead, he comes back moments later with her drink, before leaving her alone again. During that time, the singer has stepped off the stage, and only the band is playing. Babylon lets her eyes roam across the room, seeing both mafia members, and just some well-off humans wanting to enjoy a good drink, much like herself.

Her bloody bodyguard is also here, not so subtly standing in the shadows. Who does he think he is fooling? Babylon sighs, slumping a bit in her seat, more nursing the drink than enjoying it. She misses Rome. The old Rome, not Rome as it is now. Well, it’s not even Rome that she misses, she misses the people she knew back then. She misses Charis, she was a clever girl, a most devout handmaiden, brave and good and strong. She misses Drest, with his quips about the rumours he learned of the other roman nobles, with his humour and more than inappropriate jokes. She misses Bada.

Her grip tightens on the tumbler in her hand, to the point she can hear the glass protest as it holds no chance against her strength.

She misses Bada. She misses his company, his silent figure always being nearby should she ever need him. She misses having someone around who knows what she is, knows that she is not human, can understand and respect her strength despite appearing as a woman. Someone who can see the good in her, the good traits Babylon sometimes has a hard time finding in herself. She misses having him reassure her that she is good, that she is kind, that she is her own creature, that she has a mind of her own.

Babylon is so lost in her thoughts she doesn’t sense the shift in the air, doesn’t quite make the connection between everyone she knows and the voice that suddenly echoes in the quiet bar. In Babylon’s defence though, she’s yet to actually meet this person presenting as a female. But she does sense the demonic powers in the air soon enough, and her head snaps up as she looks towards the stage, jaw dropping at the sight of Crowley in a flapper dress, hair done up nicely and a rather inappropriate grip on the microphone that can bring any sort of filthy fantasies to a human’s mind. Babylon is not suspectable to this temptation though, and as such she focuses on only one thing.

Crowley has a lovely voice.

Who would have thought? Crowley sings a few songs before Babylon snaps her fingers discreetly, catching the demon’s attention. There’s a nod, and Babylon makes a second order from a waiter, having a tumbler ready for Crowley when the demon comes over to take a seat with her.

“I was wondering where you ran off to.” Babylon says by way of greeting when the demon takes a seat. “I found it so utterly unnatural for you not to be here.”

“Been having a nap.” Crowley says, taking a sip of her drink. Babylon knows that Crowley enjoys sleeping, she has tried it herself and finds it just as pleasing, but Babylon refrains from falling into a proper, human sleeping rhythm. She’d never get anything done if she does. 

“A nap? For how long?” Babylon raises a brow, leaning back in her seat and nearly choking on her own drink when the demon says she’s been napping since somewhere from 1862.

“1862? What the-, for this long? What for?” The demon doesn’t answer and Babylon narrows her eyes. “Is it because of the argument you’re having with Aziraphale?” The demon resolutely does not meet Babylon’s eyes and she sighs, asking what it is they’re arguing about this time to make them avoid each other for such a long time.

“I asked for insurance.” Crowley grumbles, and Babylon looks at her, waiting for a proper explanation, only to be interrupted by a pair of men who wished to enjoy the company of the two females. Babylon, for her part, feels like throwing the two as far she can, which is indeed quite far, and very, _very_ lethal for the mortals. She is not interested in having the two sitting with them, when she is catching up with an old friend. She’s about to snap, but notices the slight shift beside her, and reclines in her seat.

“Gentlemen, I truly believe you need to have your eyes checked. Where, exactly, do you see two women?” The men blink, and Crowley leans forward in his seat, propping an elbow up on the table, clad in a sharp dark suit, red hair slicked back and a cigar in his hand.

“I suggest you move along.” He says, not without some demonic influence in his voice, and Babylon has to bite her lip to contain the chuckle threatening to rise up in her throat at the sight of the men practically stumbling away in their haste, looking down into their drinks.

“Should have just represented a male the whole bloody time. That’s the only way humans take the bloody hint.”

“Truer words have never been spoken.” Babylon agrees, glancing over at her bodyguard. The bloody man had ignored the whole spectacle earlier on, what the hell is her current “guardian” paying the man for?

“I have a bodyguard with me, because I am impersonating the daughter of a mobster, but of course he only bothers me when I want to be left alone. When I am in a situation in which someone of my current status would like some help, he ignores me. Should have him fired, the useless lout.”

“Oh, that doesn’t sound very angelic, now does it?” Crowley teases, blowing smoke in her face and Babylon rolls her eyes, refraining herself from saying out loud that a whole lot of Crowley’s deeds over the years haven’t exactly been very demonic either.

“Instead of discussing whether or not I am angelic enough for an angel, how about you tell me what you and Aziraphale are arguing about?” The teasing grin slips off Crowley’s face and he leans back in his own seat, grumbling.

“What was that?”

“I said I asked him for Holy Water.” Babylon blinks, stares at him for a long time. “I want insurance in case everything goes pear-shaped. He got angry, said we were _fraternizing_ , the idiot.” It takes no genius to see that the angel has wounded Crowley with his words, and Babylon sighs.

“Could you get me some?” She looks up, surprised at the question, though she shouldn’t be.

“You’re asking me, hoping I’ll get you some Holy Water since Aziraphale didn’t?” He nods, and she regards him for many, many moments, when suddenly a shadow falls over them. Both look up and see Babylon’s bodyguard.

“Is he bothering you Miss Babylon? Do you want me to get rid of him?” The man asks, and Babylon just stares at him. What the absolute- Then she tries to keep herself from laughing. The man wouldn’t be able to even budge Crowley from his seat, no matter how hard he tried. She sits up, reigns in her amusement, and scowls at the man.

“When I was harassed by those last two gentlemen, you didn’t budge from your spot, but when I sit with an old friend of mine, who helped me get them away from me, you dare to come here and attempt at sending him away under the pretence of my comfort?” She glowers, and the man visibly sweats beneath her glare.

“I, uh, I-“

“Piss off.” And he does, scurrying away to hide in the dark again.

“You’re right, he’s shite at his job.” Crowley says as he watches the man run away.

“I miss Bada and Drest.” Babylon growls, downing her drink. “They were damn competent, and actually knew how to use their bloody heads. They knew what the hell they were doing.” She snaps, before exhaling loudly, turning to look at Crowley again.

“You’re not suicidal, right?” He splutters, hacking on his drink, before rolling his eyes behind his spectacles when he’s caught his breath proper.

“Insurance.” He repeats. Babylon mulls it over for a bit.

“If you want any of the good stock, I’d have to go to Heaven. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to come back if I do.” She hasn’t heard much from Heaven lately, other than the repetitive notes demanding her to tell them where Raphael is hiding, and to bring him out so he can do his duty as an archangel, but she bets that the moment she sets foot up there without her guard up, she’ll be surrounded by the hypocritical angels, and most likely be kept _locked up_ up there, until she folds. She’ll never give them what she wants, as she is bound by an oath. She has no desire to go back, especially not to answer for her long absence, but if Crowley well and truly wants it, she’ll make an attempt. Crowley mumbles something unintelligible before speaking again.

“What’s the bloody point if you can’t come back down with it?” True that. And Babylon is relieved she doesn’t have to go up to Heaven and get him some Holy Water.

“You certainly took my request better than Aziraphale did.” Translation: At least you listened to me to the very end. Babylon glances down into her tumbler, swirling the liquid.

“Well, you can’t fault him for overreacting.”

“I certainly can!” The demon argues, lifting his glass for a refill. “ _Fraternizing._ And here I am, the fool, thinking we’ve been friends.”

“Now now.” Babylon tries to placate him. “Aziraphale is just worried for you. You are friends, we all are, but Aziraphale is a whole lot more worried about what our respective sides will do to us all, should we be found out.”

“Which is the cue for me to leave you be the rest of the night, is it?” The demon asks, and Babylon shrugs.

“Stay if you will, but I think the audience misses you. Perhaps you’ll go back up on stage, and sing a bit more? I’m not going anywhere.” So the demon finishes his final drink, and waves his hand, sobering up a bit while at the same time changing back into the female form he had used while on the stage, and moves back up to entertain for the rest of the evening. The next day Babylon can’t find Crowley, so she assumes the demon has gone back to sleep, or at least gone back to London, as she cannot sense any demonic beings anywhere near her.

Babylon decides to return to London, she does have her shelters in Britain, after all, and she feels like she should be more accessible to the people running them for her. It is her new, _chosen_ purpose, after all. She meets with Aziraphale, and remembering Crowley, and the speakeasies, she convinces the other angel to let her give him a tiny make-over, to show him how he’ll look in a more modern style, on the promise that he can change back to his more familiar clothing should he not like it. Babylon doesn’t expect him to like it, but she must admit it suits him well, and he looks rather sharp.

“Imagine yourself with a glass of wine now, dark red in your hand. The humans would swoon.” She says, crossing her arms and leaning against a desk.

“I much prefer my own clothes.” He is snippy, not at all happy with his new clothes, clothes he will shove far into his closet and never pull out again, but Babylon doesn’t answer him. Instead, she changes the subject.

“How long are you going to argue with Crowley?”

“Until he apologizes! Did you know, he had the audacity to ask for Holy Water!” The angel huffs as he snaps his fingers to change his clothes, pulling anxiously on his waist-coat and adjusts his bow-tie.

“I do know. He asked me too.”

“And you also think that it was an utterly unfathomable request, don’t you?” Aziraphale appears so certain, and Babylon tilts her head.

“Actually, I offered to bring him some.” And the way Aziraphale pales confirms so many things Babylon already suspected. She tells him she didn’t give the demon any, because Crowley wouldn’t risk her being detained in Heaven.

“In this matter, I think you should apologize to him, for once.” She adds at the end, and she braces herself from the rant the other angel is sure to let loose on her.

“Me?” Aziraphale exclaims in disbelief. “ _He’s_ the one who made a, frankly, unreasonable request! Why should _I_ apologize for not helping him destroy himself? Why should I apologize for-for-” The angel cuts himself off, not letting the words escape him. They are borderline treasonous, after all. 

“Because of the words you used. How long since you last saw him, Aziraphale? Sixty years? You’ve become spoiled-“ He grows red, puffing himself up, “with Crowley always coming back around, but I have to ask, Aziraphale, what will you do if he doesn’t come back this time?” The way the principality deflates makes her frown. She knows how close the two are, despite how they always deny it, and she worries that one day, the two will push too much, and they will both say or do something they don’t actually mean, something that will create a wedge they can’t just give a simple apology over. A wedge they’ll both be too prideful and hurt to mend.

“Aziraphale, do yourself a favor. The next time you see Crowley, apologize for your outburst. At least listen as to why he wanted the Holy Water in the first place, and then make a decision, before the fool does something hasty and dangerous, because the both of us knows that once Crowley has set his mind on something, he will not give up.” He takes a seat in his comfy armchair, appearing rather distraught and Babylon moves to stand in front of him, taking his hands in hers.

“I won’t stop being friends with either of you, Aziraphale, even if you two keep on arguing until the end times, I will still be friends with the both of you, so don’t worry about losing me. What you should think about, is the best way to clear this argument the two of you have tangled yourself in and reflect upon how important it is to _listen,_ before you lose him for an entirely different reason than destruction.” Aziraphale nods, squeezing her hands. It brings comfort, knowing that while Babylon would have complied with Crowley’s request, she can also see Aziraphale’s side of it. And he is envious of how brave she is, how brave she is to claim that; yes, they are friends, yes, she is friends with a demon, and she is not ashamed of it, she is not afraid of telling people so. It is utterly foolish, of course. If Heaven finds out, she’ll be out on rather thin ice, and it will not be a strongly worded letter from the archangels.

“How are you so good at seeing both sides?” He asks as he looks up, and a small, bitter smile tugs at her face, as if he has reminded her of something she’d rather not remember.

“I am The Judge, Aziraphale.” And he remembers, remembers who it is standing before him. “I am supposed to look and listen to both sides.”


End file.
